Daughter of Holmes
by Estelle Amethyst
Summary: I never thought we would ever see each other again. I didn't think he cared enough to even look for me. I guess I was wrong 'cause here I am, five years later, reunited with the world's famous detective, Sherlock Holmes, aiding him and John Watson in solving whatever dangerous crimes were thrown their way. Even though I was the one who left, I don't everwant to be separated again.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is a fanfic I've been wanting to write for a while now...  
Hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

 _ **~Sherlock~**_

"Now I've got Daddy's little girl." The man sneered. Even though I couldn't see him, I could tell from his voice that he was sneering. I bit my lip.

"Daddy doesn't care about his little girl." I snapped back and heard him laugh in response.

"Oh, I think he does."

"Then you don't know him as well as you think you do." I scowled. "If Daddy cared for his little girl, his little girl wouldn't be here, now, would she?" I rhetorically asked the madman. "No. She would be home, safe. Daddy never cared for his little girl. She was, dare I say it, 'normal.' Not a genius, no. She hasn't even seen him in years. He's probably already deleted her from his memory."

"I think not." The man sang and I could just imagine him doing some sort of jig as he spoke. "Two pips. Should I send him a picture of his precious little girl trapped here, in an abandoned building, with bombs strapped to her?"

"He wouldn't care." I snarled, wanting very much to rip this man's throat out. He was annoying me but I didn't dare move a muscle. He had several snipers trained on me and at any given moment, I could blow.

"He would. Just you watch and see...Now, call him, and repeat everything that I say." The man ordered and a phone was dropped onto my lap. I glared at the phone. The number was already dialed in. All I had to do was press call. Reluctantly, I pressed the button. I don't know what was worse. Possibly being blown to death or calling this 'high functioning sociopath' as he was fond of calling himself?

Sadly, I believe I would prefer the latter. I hesitantly pressed the green phone button on the screen and slowly raised it to my ear. Maybe, if I was lucky, he wouldn't recognize my voice.

But at the same time, a small part of me hoped he would.

* * *

 _ **~Sherlock~**_

Sherlock scowled at the woman standing in front of him. She was acting like a blundering idiot! He could see right through her facade.

"It's a fake. It has to be." he murmured mostly to himself, typing on his phone.

"That painting has been subjected to every test known to science." The woman told him and Sherlock suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"It's a very good fake then." He whipped around to face her once again. "You know about this, don't you? This is you, isn't it?" He questioned her. The woman flashed him an irritating glance before turning towards Lestrade.

"Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourselves and you're friends-" She began, planting her hands firmly upon her hips but didn't have time to finish when Sherlock's phone rang. He wasted no time in whipping it out and answering, putting the call on speaker phone. "-Out."

"The painting is a fake." Sherlock declared once he answered.

There was no reply.

"It's a fake." He tried once again. "That's why Woodbridge and Cans were killed." Still nothing. "Oh, come on, proving it is just a detail." He muttered rolling his head up towards the ceiling.

"Prove it." Came the response and Sherlock jerked his head back down. That voice...He could've sworn it was familiar. Shaking his head, Sherlock argued,

"The painting is a fake, I've solved it-I've figured it out."

"Still need to prove it..."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. This voice...

"God, it's just a kid." Lestrade murmured in horror.

"Teen." Came the automatic correction.

"It's a fake! That's the answer! That's why they were killed!" Sherlock tried but the excuse wasn't accepted.

"Quit stalling and prove it or she goes bye-bye."

Sherlock growled. "Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?" He demanded to know. The person on the other end exhaled deeply.

"Idiot...10," The countdown began and Sherlock whipped around, approaching the painting and analyzing it.

"What did he say?" John wanted to know as Sherlock scanned his eyes over the painting.

"10. It's a countdown, he's giving me time."

"9,"

"It's a fake, but how can I prove it? _How?_ "

"8,"

Sherlock tried to focus on the task on hand but that voice was getting to him. He knew it from somewhere. He knew he knew it from somewhere. He grit his teeth together and turned towards the professor. "This girl will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake! _Tell me!"_ He ordered and the woman flinched while John shook his head in dismay.

"7,"

"No!" Sherlock shook his head, waving a hand in the air to stop the woman from saying anything. "Shut up! Don't say anything! It only works if I figure it out!" He turned back around to study the painting again. Lestrade and John shifted, anxiously watching Sherlock. This girl would die if he didn't figure it out! They already had one casualty. They didn't need another! Especially a young girl!

John turned and started pacing, Lestrade watching. He silently prayed Sherlock would figure it out, preferably before it was too late.

"6,"

"There must be something..." Sherlock murmured to himself.

"5,"

"He's speeding up!" Lestrade nearly exclaimed.

"Sherlock!" Even though John had only said his name, the detective could hear the underlying tone of urgency and John silently begging him to hurry. It was then Sherlock noticed what was wrong with the painting. He bowed his head then brought it back up, realization dawning over his features.

"Oh! Oh!"

"4,"

"In the planetarium! Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" Sherlock commented, pushing John out of his way and passing the phone into Lestrade's hand, ignoring the looks of incredulity they shot his way.

"What? Brilliant? What is?" John demanded to know, watching Sherlock walk away before turning back around.

"3,"

"Beautiful, I love this!" He remarked as he walked back their way. Lestrade fought the urge to slap him, instead yelling,

" _Sherlock!_ " There was a girl at stake here and here was Sherlock acting like he could care less!

"2,"

Sherlock took the phone from Lestrade's hand and raised it. "The Van Buren Supernova!" He finally answered.

There was silence as everyone held their breaths.

"Managed to save her in the nick of time." The person finally broke the silence, John and Lestrade not bothering to hold the sighs of relief they released. "Always have to show off, don't you?" When they said this, Sherlock knew it wasn't the madman telling them to speak.

"Who is this? Where are you?" Sherlock asked.

"Larkin...Larkin Blackwood. I'm-"

Larkin Blackwood? There was only one person he knew who would go by that name.

"Darcee?" The name came unbidden to Sherlock and once he said it, his eyes widened a fraction in recognition. Larkin was silent. "Darcee?"

"The name's Larkin." They bit out, though the relief they felt was evident in their tone.

"Darcee? Who's Darcee?" John asked Lestrade, who shrugged in response.

"Not the name given to you at birth."

"And why would you care? I just want out of here, if you don't mind. Don't very much like having bombs strapped onto me."

"Where are you?" Sherlock questioned, already heading out the door, his pace quickening as he waited for a response.

"Hand the phone to someone else."

"Darcee!" Sherlock glowered at the phone. Why was she being so difficult?

"Hand it over!" With a scowl, he tossed it to Lestrade, who raised it to his ear. He nodded when she told him the address.

"Right. We'll be right over, just hang tight."

"Like I have any other choice." Larkin sarcastically muttered. Lestrade clambered into his cruiser, John and Sherlock climbing into the back. John glanced over to Sherlock in surprise. Normally, Sherlock would have ordered a taxi...What was the exception?

"Who's Darcee?" John decided to ask and Sherlock flicked his eyes over in his direction.

"She's..." Sherlock began before trailing off. "You'll find out."

John leaned back against his seat. Sherlock was distracted, that he could tell.

Who was this Darcee?

* * *

 _ **~Sherlock~**_

I breathed a sigh of relief once I hung up. The timer on the bombs had stopped and the sniper was no where to be seen. I waited for a moment, expecting to hear the madman speak but everything was dead silent. Not one sound. I slowly stood and wandered over to the window, peering down the six stories in time to see police cruisers speeding down the road, sirens wailing and lights flashing. The bomb squad was quick to follow, everyone darting out of their cars and rushing into the building. I slumped against the wall, sliding down until I was seated on the ground, my heart still pounding. I had never been so scared in my life!

All I remembered was walking to my friend's apartment after school like I normally did, when I was suddenly ambushed and knocked unconscious. When I woke, it was to find myself in this abandoned room with no furniture, bombs strapped to my chest, and listening to this weird man who spoke over the microphone and hid from sight. He had given me a phone and told me everything I should say to Sherlock. I closed my eyes, resting my head on my knees as I wrapped my arms around my legs. I thought I was going to die! And then he had to go and wait until the very last second to answer!

Always the show-off.

I could tell he hadn't changed one bit and sadly, he had recognized my voice. Of course, it doesn't help that I used my middle name, Larkin, and my favorite last name, Blackwood. Of course he would immediately know it was me. And now he was coming here. How did I feel about that?

To be honest, I didn't know how to feel. I mean, I had missed him, a lot, and I still loved him...But, at the same time, I didn't want to see him. I had thought we would never meet again, only for this to happen. Not exactly the way I had thought we would reunite...If we had ever reunited.

I could hear pounding on the stairs, telling me that the squad were on their way, and soon, the door to the empty room was flung open.

"Darcee!" I heard a familiar voice say and tensed when someone knelt in front of me, grasping my shoulders.

"Sherlock!" Another voice called out as two more people barged in.

"Miss. Larkin Blackwood?" Lestrade's voice said and I raised my head to look at him. He was a kind looking man with silver hair and chocolate brown eyes. "Are you alright, miss?" It was then I noticed I was breathing rather fast. Taking a moment, I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my frantically beating heart that threatened to rip itself out of my chest.

"Yeah." I shakily nodded. "I'm fine." I slowly stood, doing my best not to look in _his_ direction. The bomb people came in and immediately removed the bombs, lifting a huge burden off my chest. I watched as they disabled it and couldn't help but release another breath of relief from having it gone. "Thanks."

"If it hadn't been for Sherlock, I'd hate to think what might of happened." Lestrade commented and I bit my lip at the name.

"...Yeah." I slowly said and began walking towards the door. "I need some fresh air."

"Darcee!" I heard Sherlock call after me but continued on my way, quickly descending the stairs. "Darcee!" I ignored him, rushing out the doors to the abandoned building and hurrying down the side walk. "Darcee!"

"Quit calling me that!" I finally whirled around and gave him an irked look. The tall man with black curls and icy blue eyes, wearing a black overcoat and pants, slid to a stop, the blonde, shorter, man slowing down behind him.

"That's your name, isn't it?" He shot back but I wasn't amused.

"Not anymore. The name's Larkin. Larkin Blackwood."

"No, it's not." Sherlock said before suddenly pacing. "I should have known earlier. It was so obvious! Using your middle name and then your favorite last name. How did I miss that?" He rebuked himself

"Because you're an idiot." I growled. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I have somewhere to be."

"Darcee,"

"I said to stop calling me that!" I stomped my foot in a childish manner, but I could care less at the moment.

"Why?" He drawled, tilting his head in question.

"You're Sherlock Holmes. Why don't you deduce the answer yourself?" I crossed my arms. He didn't reply, instead staring at me. Oh please! I scoffed. He couldn't really be confused. "You really don't know?"

"Wait..." The blonde man broke in, looking from Sherlock to me. "You two know each other?"

"Sadly." I replied. "Can I go now?"

"Darcee-"

"Please, stop calling me that! I hate it!"

"No, you don't."

"Oh my word...You haven't changed one bit, have you?"

"Excuse me..." The blonde interrupted again. "But...Who are you?"

"Larkin Blackwood." I replied and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Her name's Darcee. Darcee Larkin-" He started but the man cut him off.

"Wait a minute...Darcee Larkin...Darcee Larkin? Where have I seen that name before?" He asked himself, putting his hands into his pockets as he pondered about it. I gave him a weird look. He couldn't have heard of me. I wasn't popular at all! "Wait! That file you're constantly looking at!" He glimpsed over at Sherlock. "She's the one you've been looking for for the past five years?"

I blinked. What did he just say?

"What?" I stared at him. John nodded.

"Yes! You are the one! You resemble the little girl in the picture he kept in the file."

"What?" I looked up at the tall man. "He's been looking for me?" I jerked my thumb in Sherlock's direction while looking at the blonde.

"I've never seen him work so hard before." The man shook his head. "He and Mycroft both."

"John." Oh, so that was his name.

"Why have you been looking for her, Sherlock? I thought you didn't really care about others. Normally, you just sit and solve the case in a matter of seconds without giving the people a second thought but I've seen you hunched over that file every night. You've been working on finding her ever since I met you."

"Why?" I found myself asking. "You...No. We never got along. You never cared for me. I wasn't a genius. I wasn't anything...amazing." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Sherlock Holmes had been looking for me for five years now? He really... I felt tears blurring my vision. As much as I wanted to hate him, I couldn't bring myself to. I had missed him so much these past years.

"Who is she exactly, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed, gazing at me intently with a look I couldn't recognize. "Her name should give that away, John."

"What?" John looked momentarily confused. "Darcee Larkin? Or Larkin Blackwood?"

"Oh, please! You can't be that daft!" Sherlock scoffed. "The name on the file, John!"

"I only saw Darcee Larkin written on the picture." John said.

"John," Sherlock began, irritated that he had to explain every single thing to the man. "This is Darcee Larkin Holmes..."

For a moment, John was struck dumb, staring at Sherlock incredulously.

"Another Holmes?" He managed to say, glancing from Sherlock to me once again. He immediately noted the uncanny resemblance we had to one another. The black hair, icy blue eyes, the pale complexion... "Is she...your sister, then?"

"No." Sherlock replied and I shifted uncomfortable under his gaze. I looked away, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall.

"She's not your sister?" John frowned, looking at me again then back at Sherlock. His eyes widened when another thought struck him. "Oh...Oh gosh...Don't tell me...She's...She isn't? Is she?" He immediately swung his eyes over at Sherlock.

"Yeah." I found myself answering for Sherlock, kicking a rock while staring at the ground. "I'm Darcee Larkin Holmes...His daughter." I blinked after I had said it. John looked ready to faint, much to my amusement. "Man...Never thought I would ever say that again." I remarked mostly to myself, and was expecting something sarcastic or a stupid remark from Sherlock, but he remained silent. I peeked up at him through my bangs.

"D-D-Daughter?!" John sputtered in shock. Sister, he would probably have understood, but daughter? _The_ Sherlock Holmes had a daughter?!

"Darcee," Sherlock said, and this time, I didn't correct him.

"Yes?" My voice was small as I raised my head to face him.

"We're going to Baker Street and _you_ are going to explain everything." His tone left no room for arguing and John and I were left to follow him back to their flat.

* * *

 _ **~Sherlock~**_

 _ **Well, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I've always wondered what it would have been like if Sherlock had a kid so I decided to write a little fanfic about it.**_


	2. Baker Street and Murder

_**Continuation of Chapter 1...**_

* * *

 ** _~Sherlock~_**

Once we arrived to 221 Baker St, I reluctantly entered, dreading what was to come. We walked upstairs and Sherlock flung open the door. I watched as he plopped himself onto the nearby couch.

A few moments later, I was seated in the chair in front of him. It was eerily quiet. Not one word was spoken as he gazed intently at me, his hands folded beneath his chin. I kept staring at the ground, not being able to face him.

"Where?" He didn't have to elucidate his meaning behind the question. I understood what he was asking.

"I've been with Rylee." I answered, finding the ground more interesting to study at the moment. "Her family was kind enough to take me in."

"And you didn't tell anyone?"

"Heh, I thought it wouldn't really matter if I was gone or not." I said like it should be obvious. "It's not like I'm important or anything. I'm kind of surprised you haven't deleted me from your memory."

"Delete you?!"

John and I both looked at him. Was it just us, or did he actually sound a bit hurt from the accusation? He even looked like he couldn't believe I would accuse him of such a thing.

"John," The doctor looked up when Sherlock said his name. "Could we have a moment?"

"Of course." John immediately went up the stairs into his bedroom, being sure to take his computer with him. Once he left, I felt even more nervous. I clasped my hands together, toying with my fingers waiting for him to speak.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, bowing my head with shame.

"You're sorry?" Sherlock repeated.

"I thought you didn't need me. I thought...I thought you didn't care." Once I started to speak, I couldn't stop. "I grew up thinking I was just a big disappointment to you. I mean, I wasn't a genius. I wasn't anyone spectacular! I was normal. A normal kid. Still am. I just couldn't handle it. So I left, thinking it would be easier for the both of us but instead, I made my life a living hell. I missed you so much but I couldn't bring myself to come home. I kept seeing your name everywhere. Sherlock Holmes solves this, or Sherlock Holmes solves that...I couldn't take it." My breath hitched as I covered my face with my hands, struggling to keep the tears from flowing. "So I changed my name. I went by Larkin Blackwood, the kid with no parents. I was an orphan...Well, that was how everyone knew me as. I never corrected them. It made it easier for me. Only Rylee knew the truth. And her family. Then Rylee got an apartment and I moved in with her. There were so many times I would see you running out and about, and I was scared you'd recognize me, but you were so engrossed in whatever case you were working on that I never really had to worry."

"Curse it!" Sherlock suddenly slammed his fist down on the table and I jumped, eyes wide. "How could I not have noticed?! How did I not realize?" He muttered to himself, jumping up and pacing back and forth. "Five years, Darcee. Five years Mycroft and I searched for you."

I hung my head again, biting my lower lip as it began to tremble. I was not about to cry in front of him!

"I nearly drove myself insane!"

"Because you could never solve my disappearance?" I asked him with a dark look. "Because I happened to stump you?" I knew how much he hated being outsmarted and how much he despised not being able to solve a case. He spun on his heel to look at me.

"Because I couldn't find you!" He snapped and I leaned back against the chair in surprise. "We looked. We searched. We thought you had been taken by someone, Darcee! Then I found your bag missing and some of your things and realized you had left. Gods!"

I didn't know what to say. Then again, I didn't think I would even want to say anything. I lowered my eyes onto the table and found the file that John had been talking about earlier lying, open, on the table. There were pictures of me when I was younger, letters I had written, and notes Sherlock had jotted down when trying to solve my disappearance, and a map tracing everywhere he and Mycroft had looked. I stared at it in disbelief.

"Gosh...It's all my fault!" I muttered, shaking my head. "I've wasted five years of my life...But..."

"You're still confused." Sherlock noted as he sat back down. "I thought you would have realized this when you were younger, Darcee, but I don't quite understand _feelings._ I don't..." He waved his hands around, searching for the right word to say.

"I know." I whispered, understanding what he was trying to tell me. "At least...I know that now." My shoulders slumped a bit.

"You weren't a disappointment, Darcee, but it appears I made you feel that way."

"No!" I immediately snapped my head up. "It wasn't you! It was me! It was all me! I would watch you every day, testing out your experiments, solving whatever mysteries the police threw at you, listened to you deduce things about everyone and everything just from one glance...Then there was Mycroft and _him._ I felt terrible for not being as smart as you. I felt like I failed you because I wasn't interested in the same things you were. I let you down. I mean...you guys were, and still are, amazing! I was dull and...an idiot."

"Everyone's an idiot." Sherlock pointed out and I couldn't help but smile a bit at that.

"I thought Mycroft was a goldfish." I reminded him and could have sworn his lips twitched at that.

"Oh, he is."

I grinned then averted my eyes, the grin fading away. I struggled to keep myself composed. I didn't want to appear weak in front of him but the tears blurred my vision. I furiously blinked them away, looking up at the ceiling.

"Gosh. Stop, Larkin...Stop." I stood up. "Well...I should go now." I hastily said, walking towards the door but he beat me to it, keeping a hand on it, preventing me from escaping.

"Go? You think that now that I've found you, I'm going to let you go?" He asked.

"This is already hard enough." I growled but didn't move. I couldn't bring myself to.

"Darcee...You are not leaving. Not again."

"I think I can make that decision for myself," I told him.

"You wouldn't be able to do it. Once you stepped out of this door, you'd turn around and come back." He said and I closed my eyes. He was right...But I wasn't about to admit that. "You couldn't bear leaving a second time."

"Just let me go." _Before it gets any harder._

"...Fine." He opened the door. I stood there for a moment, inhaled deeply, and walked out.

 _'Keep going, Larkin. Keep going...'_ I urged myself, heading for the stairs. I could feel his gaze burning into my back and forced myself to continue, struggling to repress the urge to turn around and run back. Oh...To heck with it! I paused at the top of the stairs, staring down at them. Was it really worth it? I would never forgive myself if I walked out on him now. Five years. Five years I hid myself from him and tortured myself for having made such a decision but I never went back fearing he would be disappointed. I pursed my lips together, remembering everything I had been through for the past five years. The pain of having left, the sadness, anger... I exhaled shakily, clutching the banister. Could I stay with him? Could I handle it? Would I be able to? I don't know how long it was that I stood there, but I was getting fed up with all these doubtful and negative thoughts I kept having.

"Darcee?"

"Gosh dangit!" I shouted, driving my fist against the wall. I felt a hand grasp my shoulder and spun around, throwing myself at him, wrapping my arms tightly around him and burying my face into his shirt. "I can't! I can't do it!"

I felt him freeze but didn't dare move. After a moment, I was about to pull away when I felt him slowly pat my back.

"I know." He whispered, softly.

"I'm sorry...I should never have left. I'm such an idiot!"

"Yes, you are." He agreed and I pulled away to glare at him.

Seriously?

"But you're my little idiot." He smirked at the face I made when he said that. I remembered him calling me that when I was younger.

"Sherlock? What's with all the ruckus?" I heard a woman's voice call out and looked to see an elderly woman with short, reddish blonde hair, and greenish brown eyes walking up the stairs to the flat. She looked up and paused on the steps, first looking at me then Sherlock. "Oh? A client?" she questioned.

"No." Sherlock answered, grasping my shoulder again. "It appears, Mrs. Hudson, that my daughter's finally returned home."

"Daughter?!" Mrs. Hudson repeated, not bothering to hide the look of shock that crossed her features.

"She will be staying with us, Mrs. Hudson. Would you happen to have a spare room?" Sherlock inquired and Mrs. Hudson shook herself from her daze while I looked at Dad in shock. I was staying with them?

W _ell, of course, you idiot! What did you expect?_ I mentally berated myself. I was suddenly feeling excited and nervous but extremely happy.

I was back. I was home again.

I was quite surprised by this. A part of me still didn't know how to feel about this. It had been five years, as I was fond of reminding myself. How different would things be?

* * *

 _ **~Sherlock~**_

A few days later, after Sherlock and John had wrapped up The Great Game mystery, John and I were seated around the kitchen table, having a nice conversation.

"So, you're staying?" John asked as we took a seat at the table. Sherlock had rushed out earlier to talk to Lestrade, leaving John and I to amuse ourselves.

"Looks that way." I shrugged, leaning back against my chair, chewing on a biscuit.

"So...Sherlock's daughter?"

"Yup. Don't worry, I'm nothing like him." I told John. "I'm normal."

"No offense," John started, "But that's quite a relief." He admitted and I smirked.

"He drives you nuts, doesn't he?"

"Sometimes." John nodded in agreement. "But it's never boring."

"Oh, I imagine."

"How old are you?" John asked, setting the newspaper down and checking his macbook.

"Fifteen. Almost sixteen." I answered and John looked a bit surprised.

"Wow. So you were ten when you...left, then."

"Yeah. I don't know whether I should be happy to be back...or...I just don't know how to feel, period."

"I understand." John gave a slight grin. "That's how I felt when I came back from Afghanistan."

"Soldier?"

"Army doctor."

"How'd you meet Sherlock?" I asked him and John told me the story of how they met during the Study in Pink and how they bought the flat from Mrs. Hudson and the adventures they had gone on during the past months. I listened intently and laughed on multiple occasions as John told me all the weird things he had to do for the man. My favorite was John having a row with a machine in the store. "Oh goodness..." I wiped a few tears from my eyes and shook my head in disbelief. "That sounds like something you'd only see in the movies!"

"Yes. I thought so at first." John sighed. "I feel like I'm living in a movie."

"I like you." I randomly told him and John was at a loss of what to say. "You're very nice and patient. How you put up with the man is beyond me."

"Oh...Thank-you?"

I laughed then John asked me about my life.

"Oh, it's all boring." I told him. "I went to America with Rylee's family, I got a small job, went to school. Really, nothing interesting has ever happened."

"Your arm," John suddenly said and I looked at him.

"Yeah?"

"You don't use it much." He noted. "I've noticed you're very careful with it." He motioned to my left arm and I nodded.

"Car accident." I offered as an explanation, gingerly setting my arm on the table.

"What happened?" John asked, neither of us noticing the person leaning against the door frame, listening to our conversation.

"I was walking home from the library and wasn't paying attention when I started crossing the street. There was a police chase going on, I think, and the car swerved around the corner. It hit me and rammed me into an incoming bus."

John winced in sympathy.

"I was jammed between the car and the bus until the authorities managed to get me out. My arm, I guess, was bent in two different angles and by the time the doctors tried to fix it, they found that it was permanently damaged. They fixed it as best they could but told me it would probably be weak for the rest of my life."

"Sorry." John apologized and I laughed again.

"It wasn't your fault. I should've been paying better attention. Man, I'd never felt so much pain in my life." I shook my head, my arm throbbing when I recalled the memory of that day. "It isn't that bad, either. It's been getting stronger."

"That's good."

"Yeah." I heard the timer go up and jumped out of my seat, walking over to the stove to stir the hot chocolate I had made. When I turned around, it was to find that Sherlock had returned home and was looking into the fridge for something. "Oh, you're back."

"Solve the case?" John asked Sherlock, who groaned.

"It was the daughter. They didn't notice the key chain she left on the table." He told us and John rolled his eyes.

"Only you would notice something like that, Sherlock."

"It was so obvious." Sherlock stressed to John before wandering over to whatever experiment he had going on. I frowned deeply. It was awkward for me to be here. I had no idea what to say or what to do around him. I shrugged and was thankful John was here. He made me feel welcome and at home. "I'm bored!" The consulting detective moaned in despair, flinging his beaker across the room, the glass shattering when it impacted the wall. I quirked an eyebrow.

Yup, he didn't change at all.

Sherlock stalked into the other room and John immediately shot out of his chair.

"Oh, no you don't!" He immediately jerked the handgun from Sherlock's hand. "No more!"

"But I'm bored, John! Bored, bored, _bored_!" He slumped onto the couch and John shook his head.

"It's like dealing with a child!" He said, pointing a finger at Sherlock. "Go find yourself another case!"

"But I already solved all the ones Lestrade had."

"Then you can look at the papers. They should have something."

"It was the houseboy." Came the immediate response.

"How...Nevermind." John waved a hand dismissively in the air. "I've learned not to ask that question a long time ago. There will be a case soon enough.'

I listened as Sherlock and John bickered back and forth, which ended with John throwing his hands in the air in frustration and retreating to the kitchen while I wandered over to the window to watch the people on the street. I was also bored. I sighed and pulled out my phone to find that I had five texts from Rylee.

 _'Hey, where are you? ~Rylee~'_

 _'Larkin? ~Rylee~'_

 _'Larkin, why aren't you answering me? ~Rylee~'_

 _'Is everything alright? ~Rylee~'_

 _'Larkin, you're worrying me. You should've been home hours ago! ~Rylee~'_

I felt guilty when I realized that Rylee was probably going over her head with worry and texted back.

' _Sorry, something came up. ~L.B.~'_

 _'Is everything alright? ~Rylee~'_

 _'Yeah...Just ran into my dad. ~L.B.~'_

 _'Oh my gosh! What? ~Rylee~'_

 _'Let's just say I was kidnapped and he managed to find me in time. ~L.B.~'_

Instead of receiving a text, my phone began ringing. I answered it.

"Rylee."

"Larkin! Are you alright? What happened? Tell me everything." The woman rushed out, clearly worried. I grinned and retreated upstairs so that I could talk to her.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"I was walking to your apartment when two men abducted me." Rylee gasped in horror. "It's alright, Rylee! I was left in an abandoned building and Sherlock managed to find me."

"Are you doing okay? I know how nervous you were about seeing him again."

"I think I'm okay...It's weird seeing him again but...I don't know. I'm still a little confused."

"Well, if you ever need anything or you need to escape, you're always welcome to stay with me or my parents. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks a lot, Rylee." I thanked her.

"Anytime. I guess I'll let you go. I have work in half an hour. Can't be late."

"Right. Talk to you later."

"You too!"

"Bye!" we chimed and hung up. I kept smiling as I went back downstairs. Rylee was very easy to talk to. She could understand nearly everything you were trying to say without having to explain everything to her. She was a good three years older than me but a dear friend. Once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was nearly bowled over by an excited Sherlock.

"Case! We've got a case!" He exclaimed with glee, clasping his hands together. "Oh, it's Christmas!" He cheered, darting into his room before rushing out.

"Sherlock!" John shouted after him. "Someone's been _murdered!_ As in, they're dead! You shouldn't be so happy about that!"

"But, John, I finally have a case!" Sherlock called back, running past me again. "Come along now!" He tugged John out of his chair and towards the door.

"Alright! Alright!" John relented, tugging his hands away and throwing on a coat. I smirked as I watched them. They bolted out of the door and pounded down the stairs. I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms and stared at the skull Sherlock had on the mantle. I rolled my eyes. He still had that darn skull. The door flew open again and Sherlock reappeared.

"Forgot something?" I asked him. He looked over.

"Are you coming or not?" He asked. I slowly straightened, giving him an odd look. "Hurry! We don't have time to waste!" He urged and I followed them out the door into the cab that was waiting.

* * *

 _ **~Sherlock~**_

When the cab started going down a familiar route, I grew worried. I kept peering out the window and grew even more nervous when we drew closer to our destination. I happened to glance out the window and saw the police cars parked in front of a familiar apartment building.

"Darcee? You're looking quite pale, are you alright?" John asked, concerned. Once the cab stopped, I jumped out and bolted, faintly hearing them shout at me as I ducked beneath the police tape and sprinted into the house.

"Rylee!" I called out, startling many of the officers inside. "Rylee!"

"Who the devil are you?" The person I recognized as DI Lestrade demanded to know but I paid him no attention.

"Where's Rylee?" I asked him.

"Larkin!" Rylee's tear-strained voice reached me as she rushed out of the room nearby and flung herself at me, wrapping her arms tightly around me as she sobbed.

"Rylee! What's happened? Are you alright?!" I asked her, reciprocating the embrace. Rylee shook her head, her body wracked with sobs.

"It's awful!" Rylee bawled and I immediately lead her over to the nearby couch to have a seat.

"Calm yourself, Rylee. What's happened?" I asked her, rocking back and forth in a soothing manner.

"Jason...Jason c-came...to my ap-p-partment..." Rylee tried to explain between breaths. "I-I don't know w-why! He...I found him...He was murdered!"

"What?!" It took a moment for what she said to sink in. Rylee didn't say anything more, settling for crying from the shock and horror of finding a dead man in her apartment. When I looked up, it was to find Sherlock and John wandering into the room I'm guessing Jason's body was. Oh, Rylee was going to be traumatized. I kept comforting my friend. Jason Hemstone...What the heck was he doing in my friend's apartment? Who murdered him and why?

"Who're you?" A man stepped out and looked at me with suspicion. I looked up at him, immediately disliking him.

"No one of your concern." I told him, soothingly rubbing my friend's back.

"We're going to have to take Miss. Granger in for questioning."

"You can talk to her later." I said and the man narrowed his eyes.

"We need to take her now-"

"She's traumatized, idiot! There's no way she could handle answering your questions! Now would you mind turning yourself around? Your face is putting me off."

"What?" The man blinked and most of the officers around shared a look.

"Where have I heard that line before?" Lestrade wondered aloud just as Sherlock and John stepped out of the room. I shrugged. "Find anything, Sherlock?"

"The knife isn't the murder weapon. The cut's too fresh, meaning they did it after he was dead." Sherlock informed the DI. "He was poisoned just before he arrived. He was looking for something. An item..."

"So he broke into Rylee's apartment?" I asked and he nodded.

"Whatever he was looking for, he believed Rylee had it. What he didn't know was he was being followed. Someone set him up. But there is no sign of forced entry, meaning they had some means of getting in."

"But...Only I and Rylee have the key to the apartment." I slowly told him. "There's no way someone else was able to get in."

"Unless the door was already unlocked."

"Doubt it. I always lock it when I leave." I shook my head and reached into my pocket to pull out the key. I didn't feel anything. "Wait...What...?" I dug deeper but still couldn't find it. "I never take it out..."

"What is it?" John asked me.

"My key...It's gone! But I always put it in my pocket and I never take it out!"

"You've been pick-pocketed." Sherlock murmured.

"That or those men took it from me when they abducted me." I scowled.

"You're Miss. Blackwood!" Lestrade snapped his fingers together in recognition. "But...Why is she with you, Sherlock?"

"Gods!" Sherlock exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "It must be so boring to be you. Isn't it obvious?" Everyone gave him a 'please explain,' look. "And you are who London depends on for protection yet you can't even wrap your little minds around simplest things!" John shook his head. "Your medical team couldn't even tell that man was poisoned, immediately thinking that the knife wound had to be the cause of death!"

"Do you have to insult everyone, Sherlock?" John asked the Detective, not expecting an answer.

"You could just tell them, you know?" I added.

"What's your name?" A woman nearby, who I recognized as Donovan, asked, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms.

"I once went by Larkin Blackwood..."

"That's not your name?" Lestrade asked and I shook my head.

"My name's Darcee. Darcee Holmes." I answered and everyone reeled back in surprise. Donovan seemed to be the first to recover.

"So, the Freak has a sister? She like you, Freak?" She asked Sherlock and I couldn't help but feel anger towards her for addressing him like that.

"You're an idiot." Was what came out of my mouth when I addressed her. "Jealousy doesn't become you."

"Jealousy?" Donovan scoffed. "You think I'm jealous...of him?" She jerked a thumb in Sherlock's direction.

"Without him, you and the police would be lost and there would be murderers, thieves, and whatever other criminals running about London doing as they pleased and causing even more trouble. He's solved almost every case you couldn't, no thanks to you." I continued. "You just can't handle the fact that he's using his mind to its full capacity and is smarter than you lot. Sure he's a genius and at times irritating, but you don't have to be so cold to him. Not everyone's like you. Lord help us if everyone just can't accept the fact that every case you guys have been given have never once been solved by you guys, though you do love to take all the credit for it."

"Just who the heck are you?!" Donovan demanded, her fists clenched.

"I'm Darcie Holmes."

"You said that already! His sister?"

"My daughter." Sherlock corrected her and for the second time that day, was able to amuse himself from the looks he received.

"Say what!?" Anderson and Donovan's jaws dropped and even Lestrade stumbled back in surprise.

"Do I always have to repeat myself?" Sherlock muttered.

"Yes. Yes, you do." Lestrade nodded.

"Fine. I said, she was my daughter."

* * *

 _ **~Sherlock~**_

"Oh, that was tedious." Sherlock grumbled once we entered the flat.

"You're telling me." John agreed as he shut the door.

"I'm tired." Was all I said as I slumped onto the couch, face first into the pillow.

"Tired?" Sherlock scoffed. "You haven't done anything all day."

"You forget that I had bombs strapped to me earlier this morning. I've had quite an exciting day, if you ask me."

"It's true, Sherlock. So," John plopped down into his chair. "Did you solve the murder?"

"No." Sherlock replied, folding his hands over his chest. "Something doesn't add up. How did he get into the apartment? What was he looking for?"

"Well...It looks like you've got another case on your hands, then, Sherlock."

"Indeed, Watson. Indeed." The man agreed and I fell asleep listening to them discuss the case.

* * *

 _ **~Sherlock~**_

 _ **Not much action, I know. But hopefully the next chapters I have planned will be better :)**_


End file.
